


Whelm

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Dogs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: EruthiawenLuin prompted something with happy Sam and maybe some angst, Sam and Cas, Sam and dogs.





	Whelm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EruthiawenLuin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruthiawenLuin/gifts).



At thousands of years old, he is too old for this, the futility and the nagging sense of humanity being so beneath him, but, really, he’s fresh out of groups to turn to, except for the one. Amber liquids shift Dean Winchester into pliancy and grow complicated words that fill the greenhouse of his consciousness and burst out through the glass, and it’s all so typical, all so crude.

It’s no longer the idea of drunkenness that causes Cas’s discomfort with Dean’s drinking, entire liquor inventories having passed over Jimmy Novak’s tongue at his behest; it is now Dean himself. An unpleasant drunk is one full of everything to capacity and beyond, emotions escaping, inexorable, like urine. And Cas barely remembers why he came to Earth anymore, but he definitely did not come to get pissed on.

Dean often details Sam’s failures as a brother. It’s an old, worn path the steady wheels of his cart get stuck in and don’t attempt to wobble out of. Cas is barely listening; what would be the point? He’s not in the mood to listen. Dean has been cruel to Cas in those subtle ways they both recognize but never comment on. His vessel feels oddly clammy, like an unclean prison. Yet, he made all his choices, and in the name of freedom, too.

It’s the subject of his old home that catches his attention again. A drunken Dean makes the things of Earth seem primitive and shallow, familiar, like a mug of primordial soup, and while Heaven is something Cas starts to forget about as time goes on, so many things about it are important to the core of what he is, as if they were looped into his wiring when he was created. They may well have been. He’s got so many questions he’ll never find the answers to.

Whatever the reason, the word he knows in every Earthly language draws his attention when Dean complains about the only trip to the place he remembers.

Cas has already tried to explain that no human controls what memories Heaven shows them, tried to explain it the last time Dean got stuck in the memory of the memories. But his words, their explanation a simple one, an official one, are no match for Dean’s sense of betrayal. Sam is at fault no matter what, a commandment written in ink in a journal, rather than in stone, and Cas has become too tired to question commandments.

“So, what were these memories, again?” he asks Dean, who startles out of his bitter fog for a moment and frowns, the corners of his mouth tight. 

If Cas had heard about them at length and had forgotten, so what? It wasn’t exactly like Dean had made it seem interesting. It wasn’t exactly like he was making it interesting _now_. A rutted cart, a childish frown. Sometimes, Cas missed Heaven’s grandiosity. Sometimes he missed the grandiosity he used to have.

Sometimes, sometimes most of all, he missed the grandiosity he’d thought belonged to Dean.

Dean responds, slow and trickling, like amber liquid in a tilted bottle. The memories Sam visited include: an American tradition about giving thanks to God, the night Sam left to further his education, and...a stray dog.

“Was this a...strange dog?” he asks, unable to understand why Dean is so angry. “A monster, like...a Skinwalker? A Hellhound?”

Anger bleeds out into disappointment in Cas for even asking such a question. “Wow, Cas. Missed the boat again, hm?”

Angelic temper draws up into itself, a maneuver that becomes harder and more automatic in turns. “Then,” he says evenly, lingering on the words, “what is the problem?” 

Dean explains, convinced for the moment that Cas is very stupid (”Golden fucking Retriever, Cas. A normal dog.”), but it makes no sense. _How_ is a Golden Retriever a threat? Cas understands this to be a breed of dog and not an idol of some sort like a golden calf.

“He ran away! On my watch! _That’s_  the point.” There’s a glint in Dean’s eyes that won’t leave. It reminds Cas of those days during the Apocalypse where they would struggle for tension-filled power until the Righteous Man’s human existence proved its weakness to the universe.   


Cas taps into memories of the last conversation and remembers, vaguely, something about abandonment and something about John Winchester being horrible. He’ll grant Dean the second one.

Sam was excited to see the dog, Dean tells him, so excited it was the only time Dean saw him smile without fear in his eyes for an entire year, maybe even longer. What Cas remembers of the year supports the idea, and it’s strange, even to Cas, that no consideration is given to the fact that fear intercepted Sam’s smile for over three hundred days. There’s never any consideration to spare for Sam. 

It’s a Winchester Thing. 

Still, the whole thing does make Cas curious.

***

Sam is _buzzing_. He is looking out the window silently, but under his skin he is alight with an excitement he hasn’t been encouraged to voice...probably ever. And all because Cas is surprising him with a trip into town.

Sam asked twice already if Cas would just tell him, but it’s important to do this thing right, to witness every reaction. Sam is fascinating, really, because Cas doesn’t take enough time to study him.

Sam starts to quietly glow and get comfortable in the passenger seat. They aren’t supposed to talk about it, but Cas knows drunks come in models the way automobiles do now, and Sam is a better drunk than Dean. Sam never hurts anyone but himself, and there’s something in the Team Free Will rules none of them actually signed that says he’s the one they can all hurt.

When Cas parks in the strip mall, Sam’s confusion is sweet, light, and the way he rises to his feet on the warm pavement is utterly full of grace. He looks around, trying to put the pieces together.

“I’m here to get you something I think you deserve,” Cas announces, and, already, Sam’s gaze shows that he’s deeply touched.   


“A...nice something?” he asks, not sensing any reproach in the voice.  


“What? Yes, of course,” Cas says, but it gives him pause for a moment. Have they really been so cold and critical, Cas and Dean and all the rest in their circle of friends? What has Sam really done that’s so Not Good, anyway?

“I mean, Dean may disagree. I think he’ll come around. You have plenty of space, in that bunker. And it’s easy to clean, don’t you think?” 

Cas drops the conversation to lead the way. They get closer and closer to the animal shelter.

“No way!” Sam declares, just a tiny bit tipsy on his large feet. “No way, Cas!” he says, and the tone is pleased and desperate and, actually, it’s a little flattering. Cas tamps down on that idea for the moment; it’s fairly clear, the way Sam feels about him. It has been, ever since the first time they met and Sam fell all over himself metaphorically the way he rarely ever seems to fall all over himself physically.  


“Cas, a doggy?” Sam asks, and there’s tears in his eyes, in his voice, and he’s ducking his head to hide his face. Cas grasps his hand to keep him moving, vaguely recognizing the depth of connection the gesture affords them. Holding hands is practical for guiding, but it’s also...nice.

Soon enough, Sam is sobbing, kneeling on the ground surrounded by three dogs who keep wanting to lick him and earn their turn being pet and pampered. 

“He’s...overwhelmed,” Cas shares with the woman and her slight concern. “He really, really wants a dog. He’s never been able to have one.” She relaxes, seems to actually understand, and Cas is grateful.

The new friend pokes her head out the window, letting the wind rush past her face and ruffle her fur, and Sam sticks his head out the window too, at peace, trusting Cas to live up to his promise of being the one to tell Dean, of being the one to fight for Sam to have something.

“Cas, I like you even more now,” Sam says, voice shaking with how Too Much everything is around and inside of him, and Cas laughs.  


“Do you have a crush on me?” Cas allows himself to ask, periodically glancing at the dog, understanding her excitement about going home with Sam.  


Sam nods as he leans out the window, not opting to look back at Cas. 

Cas swallows, reaches out to tap the side of Sam’s hand with his fingers, pleased when their hands find each other again.

“I’ll make him let you have this your way,” Cas declares again, thrilling at the breathy little sigh Sam offers to the outside world as his hand gives Cas’s a squeeze.  



End file.
